


The Morning

by Lorelainoir



Series: All Those Precious Days [1]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Backstory, Other, Pre-Movie, father-daughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 04:18:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12809460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorelainoir/pseuds/Lorelainoir
Summary: The morning Belle and Maurice came to the quiet village.





	The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to put this up during the 30 days of Beauty and the Beast challenge in June, but time slips away; thank you to the creators of that for indirectly inspiring this, and a few currently unfinished pieces, regardless. The names of the village lasses were provided by one of their actresses, and I personally like them better than the semi-official Claudette, Paulette and so on of the animated film. The information about libraries and pinky rings is backed by historical research.

The morning sun had barely crested the horizon when Maurice and Belle's wagon trundled out of the forest, into the sleeping town of Villeneuve. Apart from the noise of wheel and hoof on cobblestones, there was no other sound but the clucking of chickens and lowing of cows.  
Belle spotted the church, and bit back a sigh. "It looks too small to have a convent or monastery."  
Which meant no books to read but the three she owned, rare gifts from her father and clergy bookworms with an extra copy (only the rich or clergy had libraries, and those kind enough to part with their books were usually appreciative enough of art to trade a book for one of Maurice's pieces) when they'd lived in larger farming villages.  
"Appearances can be deceiving. Why don't you go and ask after we unload the wagon."  
"I won't leave you to put everything away on your own."  
"But most of it belongs in my workshop, and it won't take you long. It's not like when we lived on that farm outside of town."  
"If you insist."  
A clock on the church's tower struck eight, and as if on cue, doors and windows flew open. Calls of "Bonjour!", "Good day!", and "Good morning!" filled the air, and a baker passed by with a tray of bread and rolls. Maurice dismounted from Philippe to buy them each a baguette, and Belle hopped down from the wagon to take hers, eager to stretch her legs.   
As they ate and walked on towards their new home—an old house with enough room out front for a garden, and a balcony that could hold plants—a group of young boys marched toward a schoolhouse and its frowning headmaster, while a cheese merchant, fish monger, flower seller, cobbler, and butcher sold their wears to fellow villagers.  
"Good morning," called a man with a cart filled with pottery. "You're new to town." It wasn't a question.  
"Yes," Maurice held out the hand not holding the reins, and the man clasped it. "I'm Maurice, and this is my daughter, Belle."  
"Jean."  
"Always a pleasure to meet a fellow artisan." Maurice gestured from Jean's pots and dishes to his own tools and wrapped creations, bundled in the wagon.  
"Yes. And what is it you do?"  
"All sorts of things," Maurice mumbled, "Paint. And make music boxes. And sketch a little."  
"Not much call for that here. But there's a market nearby every season." He shot a pointed glance at Belle. "You can go sell a toy and be home the next day."  
"My father makes far more than toys," said Belle, polite and indignant, but Monsieur Jean suddenly looked perturbed and distracted. "Have you lost something?"  
"Yes," he said slowly, "but everything seems to be accounted for. Don't mind me, you must want to be off to your home. Welcome to Villeneuve."  
***  
Belle took a music box of an Egyptian pyramid from its wrappings and set it gently on a shelf. Her father had made it after she'd read a borrowed copy of Anthony and Cleopatra from the convent in the town where they'd last lived. She rubbed a bit of dust from between the ears of the figurine of a black cat curled up near the base, and cast a loving look at the other music boxes depicting places she had never seen, and her father, hanging the painting of Maman he'd done last year for her birthday, before heading out into the village.  
Though he'd never made it to Egypt, her father had been an avid traveler before residing in Paris, where he'd met Belle's mother. She wished their nomadic life could be attributed to both their desire to see anything they hadn't yet seen, but the truth for their series of homes (in ever smaller country villages) was a combination of poverty, and peoples' occasionally hostile reactions to Belle's attempts to make changes to the communities.  
She remembered trying in vain to convince her father that a few lads from Burgundy had been satisfied with destroying her wood chopping contraption, as he hitched up Philippe in the dead of night. He had only told her that she deserved to live someplace where her hard work wasn't "destroyed due to perceived assaults on livelihood.", and in truth, Belle hadn't been sad to leave.   
"Why, you're beautiful!"  
The speaker was a woman, surrounded by three brunette girls that looked to be Belle's own age. All of them carried heavy-looking baskets of laundry.  
"Thank you."  
"I'm Celeste. These are my daughters..." She motioned to each in turn. "Elise, Eliana, and Eloise."  
"I love your necklace," said Eloise, eyes fixed to the cord with its small motif.  
"Thank you. I came up with the design, but my father made the pendant."   
"Did he make your ring too?"  
Belle's broad smile was automatic as she touched the adornment on her left little finger.  
"Don't be silly, Eloise," chided Elise.   
Eloise gave a self-deprecating giggle, then her face—all four womens' faces—turned grave.  
"Did you have to call off the wedding when you moved?" Eliana asked.  
"Oh, it's not an engagement ring."  
There was a moment of silent consternation, then all four women smiled again.  
"Still, there must be a fascinating story behind it," said Eloise.  
"Was that a reading reference?" Belle asked eagerly. How amazing to find not just _someone who shared her love of books, but an entire family. "I passed the time coming here reading some of Marlowe's poetry. Have you'''?"  
All four faces stared blankly at her, evidently having not comprehended a word she'd said.  
"It was a parting gift when I was a child. From a postulate at a convent in Barbot." And a way to signify that you were an intellectual; she could still remember clutching the ring in her ten year old fist and thinking it could have been something her mother would have worn.  
"How," Celeste began.  
"Strange," said Elise, just as Eliana murmured, "Odd,", and Eloise chimed in with, "Peculiar."  
"I should let you get on with your laundry," said Belle, somewhat deflated.  
As she walked on toward the church, lifting her spirits by skipping across some stepping stones, she heard the triplets mutter, "Funny girl.", as their mother sighed, "What a beauty."  
As first impressions went, for her and this little town, she could forgive its seeming materialistic preoccupations, and perhaps its inhabitants would come to see her as more than beautiful. She would have plenty of mornings to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come when the muse allows, and MFA projects aren't consuming creative energy.


End file.
